


the light in me will guide you home

by ADreamingSongbird



Series: harbor [2]
Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon Fix-It, Reunions, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Spoilers, and gets MANY hugs from eiji, i already know i will need reunion fixit fic after 24 so here i am, in which ash goes to japan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 13:15:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17080994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADreamingSongbird/pseuds/ADreamingSongbird
Summary: Eiji is on his way home from university when his sister texts him that someone is looking for him: an American named "Aslan".





	the light in me will guide you home

**Author's Note:**

> i've been tinkering with this fic for the past two weeks but today... is the day... it has to go up... because i will cry as soon as ep 24 is available for me to watch and i'm not ready and I Need Reunion Fic so i'm providing some for future me to read. We All Deserve This
> 
> this is a companion fic to ["where the daylight begins"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16901034), but both are standalone pieces!
> 
> title is a line from [harbor](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wTdQRtU5O_I) by vienna teng! it's such an eiji song.

Grief is not what Eiji imagined it would be.

It never has been—when he mourned his career in vaulting, he thought he would be desperate and reject the news outright, thought he would scream at the doctors, thought he would do anything rather than calmly accept it. But he did, as if as soon as his ankle snapped under him the world, trying to protect him, draped a shroud of numbness about his shoulders but forgot to ever take it off.

When Shorter died, there was no denial then, either. He saw it happen, he _knew_ it happened—felt the hot, sticky blood pooling on his chest and drying there with the blood from his own wounds—and there was the sorrow, intense and deep. It was all because of his own weakness that Shorter died, and not a day went by—has _gone_ by—that he doesn’t regret it. But he never denied it happening.

So he thought he had a pattern: every time he lost something, lost someone, he would constantly skip denial and go directly to numb, drained grief, a state of constantly daydreaming and yearning for the snapshots in his mind’s eye of the life that could have, should have been.

And perhaps that’s why the intensity of his denial now surprises him—it surges up with a vehement roar like a wild thing, clawing and scraping at his insides until he has to grasp at Ibe-san’s arm shoulder to remain upright, gasping for a breath that just won’t come.

“Ei-chan!” Ibe-san turns around, worried, but his voice is so distant Eiji doesn’t even register it for a delayed moment, swamped by the ringing in his ears.

Ash can’t be dead.

Ash _can’t_ be dead.

Not again. Not again, not again, not again, not again.

“Ei-chan, what is it? Talk to me!”

“Ash,” Eiji wheezes. His voice cuts his throat like a thousand and one diamond knives, because if he says it out loud it will become true, these words from Sing’s message on his screen. Cursed, cruel words. Lies that they are—no, no, Sing must have been deceived, again, just like last time, because _Ash can’t be dead._

“Let me see.” Ibe-san takes his weak arm and lifts his hand, reads the phone clenched in white-knuckled fingers, and inhales sharply. “Ei-chan…”

“It’s not true.” Eiji chokes on the breath that isn’t going down his throat. “It’s _not,_ he can’t—he wasn’t dead before, he can’t—he can’t be now, Ibe-san, I have to—I have to go back, I have to _find_ him—”

Ibe-san’s hands descend on his shoulders, warm and solid and real, and for the first time in (years) (eternities) almost a minute, Eiji remembers he’s in an airport, that he’s in Japan, that he’s just picked up his luggage to go back to his family.

“No, Ei-chan,” Ibe-san says very gently. “We have to go home.”

“But Ash—”

“I will find out from Max what the truth is.” Ibe-san pulls him into a hug, and Eiji gasps against his chest and melts, shivering. “But you need rest. You are going home, and you are going to rest. We will find out the truth soon.”

“Someone fooled Sing, Ibe-san, if there’s still someone out there working against Ash he _needs_ me!” Eiji clutches twin fistfuls of Ibe-san’s sweater, trying to breathe but struggling, because the air has turned to water and wants to see him drown. “I… I need… He needs…”

“Ei-chan.” Ibe-san squeezes him, then pulls away, arm around his shoulders. He looks exhausted, and suddenly Eiji notices the bags under his eyes, the slump to his shoulders, and thinks, terrified, that he’s just like Ash: human, breakable, mortal. “First, we will go home. Then, we will rest from our travels. _Then_ , we will find out what has happened in New York. Okay?”

Eiji swallows a pathetic whimper and manages to get a tiny breath into his aching lungs. “But…”

Ibe-san sighs. “Ash would not want you running yourself ragged right after such a long journey.”

It’s as if the little bit of air he just barely grasped has been punched out of him. Eiji _whines,_ chest hurting, and feels tears prick at his eyes—it’s _true,_ Ash always wanted ( _wants,_ he _wants,_ he isn’t dead he can’t be dead he’s alive he’s alive) him to take better care of himself—but using Ash to make him stop himself from going back immediately to find Ash is…

Cruel.

“Sorry,” Ibe-san murmurs, as if realizing this at the same moment. “Sorry, Ei-chan, that was insensitive.”

“He’s not dead.” Eiji looks at the floor, fingers twitching at his sides. His hands can’t stand the lack of the warmth from Ash’s palm in them. “He isn’t. He’s not dead, Ibe-san, you know that, right? He _can’t_ be.”

Ibe-san looks uncertain, but he places his hand on Eiji’s shoulder and starts guiding him toward the doors. Eiji follows reluctantly with one last fervent glance toward the ticket counter. “Everything… everything will be okay.”

But of course, it isn’t.

* * *

_Over a year later…_

* * *

Izumo never gets as cold as New York City. It just gets dull and wet and grey, with a blustery wind and a constant sheen of chilly rain. The bus ride from the train station to his home is a long one, so Eiji sighs and looks out the window for a few minutes, leans against his backpack, and drifts off in the warmth of the bus’s heaters.

A little while later, the familiar name of his stop jolts him out of his doze, and he grunts to himself as he hefts his backpack and picks up his small suitcase up, shuffling down the aisle to the doors with several _pardon me_ s and _excuse me_ s. The suitcase is full of textbooks and the backpack has both his camera and laptop, and his shoulders are _killing_ him, but at least at home he can take a proper nap; he had to wake up far too early to pack and make it home in time for dinner.

It’s only when he gets off the bus, thanking the driver and waving her on her way, that he notices the two missed calls and unread texts from his sister. Sighing—maybe they need him to grab something from the corner store before getting home—he unlocks his phone to read the messages, and—

His blood runs cold.

[17:04] Nahoko:  
pick up your phone!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  
anyway do u know an american named aslan?

_Ash,_ whispers the traitorous voice of denial, somewhere in the back of his head, the one that doesn’t want to let him go a day without crying, without scrolling back through picture after picture after picture until his stomach hurts from the force of his sobs and his entire body aches from how badly he misses Ash’s touch, his smile, his laughter. _Ash…_

[17:33] Eiji:  
why are you asking that?

His hands shake as he stuffs his phone back in his pocket, grabs his suitcase, and starts walking down the sidewalk so briskly it’s just barely not a run. Why is she asking about Ash? Did she decide to go through his photos? He—he did write _Aslan_ on one of them, one of Ash watching the sunrise, but—

No, she knows better. Right? She _knows_ better. There are some things he wouldn’t put past her nosy butt, but the photos… she knows that would be a real violation of his trust. She has to know that. So how did she find out that name? How did…

Fuck it, he has to know.

Nahoko picks up on the first ring, and Eiji is so agitated he doesn’t even bother with much of a greeting. “Nii-san?”

“Nahoko. Where did you hear that name?”

“Uh,” Nahoko says, and oh _god,_ that’s a suspicious tone of voice. Anxiety spikes in his gut—did she look through the pictures? “Are you almost home? It might be easier to just explain when you get here?”

“I’m walking from the bus stop,” Eiji says, frowning. “What do you mean, easier to explain. Who told you that name? I need to know, Nahoko, I’m serious—”

“There’s an American sitting on our couch, and he wants to talk to you!” Nahoko bursts out.

An American sitting on the couch?

There are only a few people who were in Cape Cod when Ash mentioned his true name, and of the two of them who were American, one is dead. Eiji doesn’t understand why Max would just show up and play a cruel joke like this, but it’s the only explanation. He blows out a breath. “Tell him these exact words: ‘Max, this is not funny.’ Tell him that, okay?”

“Eiji says, ‘Max, this is not funny.’” Nahoko accuses, and Eiji’s lips almost twitch into a humorless smile at the idea of Max dealing with her teenage sass. “Why are you here if you are going to lie to us about being Eiji’s friend?”

“No—Nahoko, Max is a friend of mine,” Eiji sighs into the phone. Whether they’re still going to be friends after he finds out _why_ Max would do this is another matter, but for the moment… yes. “Aslan is… someone else.”

His house is just around the corner, and he breaks into a jog, the suitcase rattling along behind him.

There’s some garbled mumbling from the other end for several seconds, as Eiji hurries to the front door. He gives up on getting anything else out of Nahoko and instead focuses on getting his fumbling fingers to actually get the key into the lock—it takes more attempts than he’d like—and letting himself in with a rush of warm air.

“Tadaima,” he wheezes, shutting the door and abandoning the stupid suitcase.

“Okaeri!” Nahoko hurries over to him, taking his coat as he struggles with his backpack while toeing out of his winter boots, and then…

“Eiji,” a voice says.

_Ash’s_ voice.

Eiji freezes.

He looks up from his boots slowly, taking in first sock-clad feet and dark jeans, then a thick cable-knit green sweater and broad shoulders, and then thin-rimmed glasses and green eyes and messy blond hair and a smile he’s missed so much it’s _hurt_ , and…

He has to be hallucinating.

“Ash?”

Ash reaches over, slipping his fingers under the strap of the backpack still on Eiji’s arm, and pulls it away. Eiji stumbles forward half a step, clumsy, as he relinquishes it, and Ash nearly drops it. “Oof! What’re you carrying in this thing, _bricks?”_

“A computer and a camera and some books…” Eiji swallows hard. Is this happening? This can’t be happening. The grief and the stress and everything all together just have finally gotten to him, and he’s cracked. “I… I am hallucinating. Nahoko, is he here?”

“There’s definitely _someone_ here,” Nahoko mutters, crossing her arms. She looks somewhere between curious and grumpy, and that familiarity helps Eiji ground himself. “Is he Aslan or Max?”

“Told you,” Ash says, “I’m not Max.”

Eiji gasps, the breath catching in his throat. “You—you’re here?” He isn’t—this can’t—Ash—he wants to hold him, to touch those smiling cheeks and reassure himself this is real, to run his hands through that wind-mussed hair and see if it’s as soft as he remembers, to—to—

Ash’s smile is heartbreakingly familiar. “Yeah. Sorry I took so long.”

He holds out his arms slightly, just enough to offer an invitation, and Eiji can’t contain himself any longer. He cries out and flings himself forward, and oh, _god,_ it’s Ash, this is Ash, his Ash who he hasn’t held in so long, who he’s missed so damn much! He grabs at the sweater and buries his face in his shoulder and clings, and Ash stumbles back, laughing, and Eiji yelps as his feet leave the ground and Ash twirls him around and around, once, twice, _thrice_ , in the middle of the living room.

When Ash sets him back on his feet, Eiji lifts his head from his shoulder, overwhelmed and feeling warm warm warm inside, and looks up at him, drinking him in like a parched man in the desert gazing at a freshwater spring.

His vision blurs, and before he can blink them away, sudden, hot tears are running down his cheeks and he’s sniffling piteously, hands curling into fists in the back of Ash’s sweater. Ash’s smile vanishes abruptly, replaced by almost comical concern, and Eiji nearly laughs at him.

Wide-eyed, Ash lifts a hand to stroke his cheek, trying to brush the tears from his face. “Hey, hey, don’t cry, it’s okay, hey, Eiji, it’s okay…”

Eiji clutches at him even tighter, burying his cold nose in his neck. “Okay, my _ass—_ ”

“Holy shit, who taught you that kind of language?”

“—you stupid, disappearing—you—you pumpkin!”

 “ _Pumpkin?”_ Ash is definitely making his indignant face—Eiji can hear it in his voice—and oh, _god,_ he has missed him, missed this. “That’s _harsh!”_

He lets out a wet laugh and lifts his head, looking up at him with tears still streaming from his eyes. Sure enough, he can see the light dancing in those green eyes, and fondness threatens to squeeze his heart until it bursts. “It is what you deserve, making me wait this long…”

Ash’s smile fades, and he leans in slowly, pressing their foreheads together. There’s guilt in his face now, and Eiji prepares to smack him for it if he apologizes for the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Eiji. I didn’t think it’d take me this long to get to you—”

“Stop apologizing!” Sure enough, Eiji smacks his arm, then hugs him tight again, burying his face in the crook of his neck. He’s warm. “I have told you, that is for the Japanese to do. Stupid Ash, it was not your fault!”

“It’s not my fault but I’m still a pumpkin? Strange logic.” Ash laughs, nuzzling his hair, and Eiji gives him a tight squeeze.

“I missed you,” he murmurs. “I always knew you would come home to me again.”

“Oh, Eiji.” Ash’s whisper is barely audible, but Eiji hears it anyway, clinging to him as he is. He never wants to let go ever again. He’s missed this far too much.

“Um.” Nahoko squeaks, and Eiji blinks, lifting his head from Ash’s shoulder. Oh, right. They’re still in the living room. He forgot about that. “Nii-san, do you want tea? And Kaa-san made dinner, it’s in the kitchen.”

“I—we can eat in a little while.” Eiji looks up at Ash for confirmation, but he knows he wants to talk to Ash and cling to Ash and cry on Ash for a bit before doing anything else. “I think—Ash, let’s go to my room, we can talk?”

Ash meets his gaze, smiles slightly, and nods. “Yeah.”

Satisfied, Eiji wraps his arm around his Ash’s waist and starts to lead him to his room. This feels like a daydream come true. “Thanks, Nahoko. If you are hungry, eat. I might be a while.”

He guides Ash down the hall and into his bedroom, closing the door behind him, and then he promptly hugs him again. Ash laughs softly, hugging him back, and a moment later there’s the whisper of a kiss pressed into his hair. “Missed you too. I… I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Everyone told me you were dead,” Eiji admits, looking up at him with tears threatening to fall again. “What happened?”

Ash winces.

“It’s… a long story.” He blows out a breath and looks away, but Eiji doesn’t let him, cupping his cheek and guiding his gaze back down to him. “Shit, your hands are cold.”

“Well, it _is_ cold outside.”

Ash chuckles, taking his hand between both of his and gently rubbing warmth into it. “Not _that_ cold.”

Eiji wants to melt against him more than ever, wants to sink into his arms and cling to him and never, never let go ever again, his heart is so full. This is so much better than all the daydreams he refused to let himself have—Ash is _here,_ and real and warm and solid and _okay,_ and oh, god, he’s here. He’s just as beautiful as Eiji remembers, a beacon of light in his life, and…

“What’re you staring at?” Ash quirks an eyebrow, squeezing his hand and squishing the pads of each finger in turn, and Eiji blinks.

“You.”

Ash’s cheeks flush pink, but he grins. “Like what you see, huh?”

Eiji leans up on his toes to kiss his cheek. “Very much.”

The blush extends to Ash’s ears, and Eiji laughs at the flustered look on his face. He’s missed this. “Hey, you can’t—that’s not fair!”

“What’s not fair?” Eiji flutters his eyelashes innocently, leans up again, and kisses the other cheek. “This?”

Ash catches him around the waist and pushes him back, holds him at arm’s length, and narrows his eyes at him. He’s still red in the cheeks and pouting, and he’s so adorable that Eiji melts inside all over again. “Stop playing dirty!”

Eiji loops his arms around his neck, pulls him close again, and closes his eyes, and after half a second Ash hugs him back, arms folded snugly around his shoulders. He sighs, feeling the gentle _thud-thud_ of Ash’s heart beating through his sweater, and slowly pulls back to look up at him. “I have many kisses to give you that I have been saving up. I will not stop!”

Ash ducks his head, his smile fading again. “Eiji… I really am sorry I took this long, and I didn’t get in touch with you to let you know I—I _wasn’t_ dead, and everything just—I can’t even imagine how awful it must have been for you, I mean, if—if I thought _you_ were dead I—”

He breaks off, and Eiji takes this moment to cup his face and murmur, “It is okay.”

Ash gives him an incredulous look. “How can you say that without even knowing what happened?”

“Because,” Eiji says patiently, “I know you, and I know you would never have hurt me on purpose, which means whatever happened, it was out of your hands.”

Ash deflates. “But I did hurt you.”

“Someone else hurt me,” Eiji corrects. “By using you as the weapon.”

“Eiji…”

Eiji takes his hand and guides him to the cushions on the floor. “Come. We can sit and talk. It will be more comfortable.”

Ash follows him, plopping down and waiting for him to settle too, and then flops to lie across his lap. Eiji smiles—this, too, is familiar, and this, too, he has missed—and runs his hand through his hair, soft and silky, just like always. Some time passes just like that, minutes flowing by easily, as they sit together and just talk about everything and nothing, and Eiji’s mind finally catches up to his heart and accepts that this is real: Ash is here, in his arms, as he should have been all along, and now the world finally feels right again.

Eventually, Ash takes his hand and blows out a sigh. “This is… I missed this. A lot. But we shouldn’t just dance around everything else, so… okay. Uh… Where should I start?”

“The day I left?” Eiji strokes a lock of gold behind his ear and removes his glasses, setting them aside so he can lie more comfortably. A little knot of trepidation settles into his stomach—who knows what Ash has been through, without him, alone.

“Right.” Ash grimaces, squeezing his eyes shut. “So… well, the short version is just. Yut-Lung manipulated Lao into thinking I was going to attack Sing because I… because I killed Shorter,” and his voice goes suspiciously quiet. Eiji takes his hand, lifts it, and kisses his knuckles. “And Lao thought, uh, he had to kill me to keep Sing safe, and he stabbed me, and I kinda nearly died again, but I didn’t? Aaand… I had to lie low for a bit and it seemed like. Easiest. To fake my death. Because I wanted to get away from anyone chasing me so I could get to you and not bring any of that shit after us. And, uh… now I’m here?”

Eiji frowns. A faked death would have been convenient, but something about this doesn’t add up.

“You are not telling me something.”

Ash’s eyes fly open to pin him with a piercing look. “What makes you say that?”

“There’s no way Lao could have landed a hit on you.” Eiji bites his lip. “I know how you move, and I have seen him fight, and I _know_ he could not. Unless you let him.”

The accusation hangs in the air for a heartbeat. Then Ash scoffs.

“Yeah, right. As if I’d let _him_ of all people be the one to finally kill me on purpose.”

Eiji narrows his eyes. Ash is definitely lying—he’s a good liar. Too good. When he gets calm and dismissive, that’s his tell. And letting Lao kill him… well… with how much he was hurting, for letting Eiji get hurt, yes, but also with all his self-blame for Shorter’s death… maybe letting Lao avenge Shorter wouldn’t have seemed like a bad death to him.

“I think you would have.” Eiji touches his cheek, not wanting to argue but wanting the _truth,_ and closes his eyes. “I think—I think if you were thinking too much about how they killed Shorter, you would have.” He opens his eyes again, troubled, and looks down at Ash. “Tell me I am wrong.”

“You’re—Eiji. Eiji… that’s…” Ash trails off, the fight gone out of him and the stubborn light in his eyes shifted to concern. “That wasn’t it. I didn’t let him. I… I wouldn’t have, not when…”

“When what?” Eiji prompts, when it becomes clear he isn’t going to continue on his own.

Ash sighs deeply, reaching for his hand to hold it tight. “You’re not gonna like the truth.”

“You got _stabbed,_ ” Eiji says flatly. “I already do not like it.”

Ash huffs out a soft laugh, but there’s still a mingled touch of wary hesitation and trepidation in his face. “Yeah, that’s fair. I… He got the drop on me ‘cuz I was distracted and I didn’t notice him coming until it was too late.”

“Distracted?” Eiji shakes his head. “That does not seem like you, either, unless…”

The only times he’s ever seen Ash too distracted to focus on his surroundings and potential threats were when they were laughing together, or Eiji was trying to take care of him in some way, or—

A horrifying realization slots neatly into place with a sickening _click._

“You were reading my letter.” His voice is a dull whisper. There is a roaring in his ears. “Weren’t you.”

Ash sits up, reaching for him with frantic hands. “Eiji? Eiji, hey, I need you to breathe, c’mere,” and then he’s wrapped in strong arms, cradled gently against Ash’s chest. “Breathe, okay? It wasn’t your fault, it’s not—just breathe, yeah? That’s good. That’s good…”

Tears well up in his eyes alarmingly fast as he clings to Ash again, desperate and keening, and Ash hugs him fiercely and buries his face in his hair. “Ash…? Ash, I am sorry, I am so sorry, I, I… oh, god, I did not—”

_“Eiji.”_ Ash’s voice is low and intense. “It was _not_ your fault. You hear me? You—what you wrote, you just—you made me so _happy,_ okay? You made me think that for the first time I could actually have a second chance and live a real life away from—from all that shit, and you—god, you say these things so easily but they get me so bad each time, like—your soul is always with me? You said that and I thought, holy shit, he really means it, he’s not gonna forget me when he leaves—and that made me so fucking _happy,_ Eiji, so don’t you dare apologize for writing me that letter. Don’t you _dare.”_

Eiji is crying again, weeping openly into his shoulder, and Ash tightens his arms as if to protect him from all the sorrows in the world. “Ash, Ash, _Ash…”_

Ash kisses the top of his head. “I’m here now. And I’m okay. And you saved me again by making me realize I could even be here. See? You’re always saving me.”

“I missed you,” Eiji cries, clutching weakly at him and shuddering in his embrace. “I missed you so much!”

“I missed you, too.” Ash rubs his back in big, soothing circles, starting near the base of his neck and running all the way down to the small of his back, and rests his cheek against his hair. “Shh, don’t cry, I hate when I make you cry…”

“You didn’t make me cry!” Eiji sniffles desperately and wipes at his eyes, to no effect. “Stupid Yut-lung and Lao made me cry!”

“Oh, Eiji…” Ash hugs him tighter, more or less tugging him into his lap. “I… I don’t know what to say. I—you won’t let me say sorry again, will you?”

Eiji shakes his head emphatically. “No!”

“You’re too good for me.” Ash’s voice is soft, just barely a murmur, and Eiji stiffens as if cold fingers just brushed over his spine. “Oh, Eiji. I don’t deserve you.”

“Stop it,” Eiji whispers, ice running through his veins. “That sounds like a goodbye. Don’t say things like that. Stop. Stop, Ash! You can’t leave me again!”

“I don’t know why you want me to stay, when all I do is make you cry!” Ash’s voice shakes now, too, and Eiji clutches at him, fingers curling into his sweater and digging into his back. He can’t leave, not when they’re finally safe and together in Japan and things are like they should’ve always been! He can’t let his inner demons chase him away. Eiji won’t let him. He _can’t!_ “I—you’re the best person in the world and I’m—I’m awful, Eiji, I am, and—”

“You are _not!”_ Eiji cries, frustrated. “You are wonderful and brilliant and kind and the only thing that makes me sad is that you do not see yourself the way I can! You deserve to be happy, and if I am what makes you happy, then you deserve me!”

Ash doesn’t say anything. He buries his face in Eiji’s hair and gasps out a shuddering breath, shoulders shaking, and Eiji clings to him as tight as he can, needing him to know that he is _loved,_ truly and unconditionally, and terrified that if he doesn’t, he’ll vanish again, like mist in the light of dawn.

“One day,” he pledges, “you will see yourself the way I see you. You will see the kind smile and the pure soul and the loving heart, and you will see the hands of a protector. You will look in the mirror and you will see my Ash. My Aslan. Not the Ash you hate, but the one I love.” Sniffling, he reaches up and strokes his hand through Ash’s hair again. “I will not leave your side until this day comes, and even after that. But it will come.”

Ash lets out a deep sigh. He sounds exhausted, and his voice is low and heartwrenchingly sad. “There’s nothing pure about my soul, Eiji.”

“There is.” Eiji lifts his head, disloding Ash, and leans up to kiss his cheek again. “You do not see it yet, but I do.” Chest aching, he takes Ash’s hand and brings it to his heart, and Ash closes his too-bright eyes against tears that spill anyway. He wept the last time they saw each other, too, and Eiji bites his lip as he thumbs the tears away. He never wants to see Ash cry like this. “We are safe now, Ash. We can be happy now.”

When Ash speaks again, his eyes still closed, he sounds like a young, frightened child, just seeking reassurance, and Eiji’s heart breaks a little more. “Can we? You mean it?”

“Yes.” Eiji shifts onto his knees and leans forward, cupping his face, and kisses his forehead. “Yes. We can be happy. We will.”

His voice rises a little further, uncertain and frightened. “You promise?”

Eiji kisses his forehead again. “I promise.”

He lets go of Ash for just a moment, going to his futon and unfurling it and rearranging pillows to get everything more comfortable, and returns with a blanket that he wraps around Ash’s shoulders. Ash slumps into his arms, and now they mirror their previous pose—Eiji rests his chin atop Ash’s head, and Ash burrows into his shoulder, swaddled in the blanket.

“I didn’t wanna die,” he whispers. “I thought I did, but I didn’t. I wanted to see you again.”

“Shh.” Eiji kisses his hair, heart hurting. His poor, sweet Ash, suffering alone like that… “Ash. Ash, it is okay now. It is over. We are safe, okay? You are here with me. It is okay.”

Ash sniffles. “I—I was so _scared!_ I thought… I thought I was gonna die there, Eiji, I th-thought I was dying as soon as—as soon as I realized I _wanted_ to live, and, and…”

“Oh, Ash…” Eiji holds him tighter. What is there to say? Nothing seems good enough.

“Did they tell you?” Ash asks, voice weary and ragged from holding back sobs. “Shunichi, or Max. Did… did anyone tell you about me?”

“Sing did.” Eiji rubs tiny circles between his shoulderblades. “But not the whole story. He told me about Lao attacking you. I only saw his message when our plane landed. He told me he did not think you made it, but… I did not believe him. I wanted to turn around and fly back to New York. I told him—” and he chuckles humorlessly, “—that it was not true last time, and I would not accept it this time, because I knew you would not leave me alone again.”

“I almost did.” Ash’s voice cracks again, and Eiji gives him a squeeze. “I almost did leave you, Eiji, god, how do you not hate me for it—”

“I could never hate you,” Eiji croons, rocking him back and forth. “I love you too much.”

Ash chokes on his tears and hiccups. _“Eiji…”_

Eiji soothes him, his own face still sticky from tears, and runs his hand up and down his back. Ash needs to cry it out—it’ll be good for him to finally let everything out, and Eiji is so, so glad he feels safe enough around him to do that—and while he does, Eiji is going to hold him and hold him and hold him. He’s gonna take care of him. Forever.

There’s a soft thump against the door, and both of them look up, Eiji inquisitive and Ash frozen and paranoid, heart racing as Eiji squeezes his hand. From the other side, Nahoko calls, “Nii-san? Kaa-san sent me with dinner and tea for you both.”

“Coming!” He gives Ash another squeeze and gently extricates himself, going to the door.

Dinner is good; they manage to stop crying as they eat their rice, sitting side-by-side and sharing the blanket. Ash is really here, sitting in his room and eating dinner with him, and the reality of it slaps Eiji across the face as he watches Ash make a face and quickly drink water because his tea was too hot.

“What,” Ash huffs, setting his glass down. “Stop staring!”

Eiji hums and nudges his side, unable to stop smiling. “No, never.”

After they eat, they finally go wash their faces, crowded into Eiji’s bathroom together. Eiji elbows Ash for hogging the sink, and Ash flicks water at him in response, and it feels so normal again that Eiji has to turn and beam up at him. Ash responds by leaning down and pressing a lightning-fast peck to the tip of his nose, and Eiji positively glows.

Until Ash splashes him again, anyway.

Finally, Eiji stacks their empty dishes on the tray and sets it on his desk—he’ll take it back to the kitchen in a minute—and then spreads the blanket back out in preparation for sleep. Ash settles back down against the wall and sighs, leaning his head back.

“Jesus, that was a lot of crying.” He huffs out a laugh. “Can you believe us? God, that’s like, worse than any of Griff’s old romance movies.”

Eiji laughs and plops down next to him, hugging his arm to his chest. “I will have to show you some Japanese dramas. Then you will change your tune.”

“Oh, god,” Ash groans, the fondness in his smile ruining his attempt at feigning reluctance. It’s incredibly endearing. “Watching shows that _you_ pick out? I thought you said I deserve happiness, not torture.”

“I have very good taste, for your information.” Eiji pinches his arm and lays his head on his shoulder. He’s discarded his sweater, and he radiates warmth through his thin T-shirt. It’s nice. “And we will watch good movies, too. It will help you learn Japanese faster!”

“Sure.” Ash leans his cheek against his hair. “Whatever you say.”

“Mmhmm. That is good. You are learning to listen to your elders.”

Ash snorts, and Eiji grins in response. After a moment, he closes his eyes, basking in contentment because Ash is _here_ and this is real and they’re okay, and everything is gonna be fine now. He hasn’t felt genuinely hopeful in so long.

“I’m glad you’re okay.” Ash nudges him gently. “It’s… it’s really good to see you acting like yourself. After, um. You know.”

After the last time they saw each other in the hospital. Right. Just thinking about that makes Eiji’s heart twinge, and he hugs Ash’s arm tighter. “I am glad, too. I was scared that would be the last time I would ever see you, but I am glad it was not.”

Ash turns his head and presses a featherlight kiss into his hair again. “Me too,” he says, voice soft. “Me too.”

* * *

Eiji wakes to sunlight streaming in around the blinds, leaving lines of gold across the wall and part of the floor. The color reminds him, briefly, of the fields of wheat in the middle of America, covering all the plains between New York and Los Angeles. For just an instant he thinks he’s in the back of a van, snuggled up between two sleeping bodies instead of one, as waves of grain roll past, but the memory fades as fast as it came, and he wakes up a little more fully and recognizes the walls of his room.

He rolls over, sighing, and freezes.

Ash is beautiful. In his sleep, he looks calm, peaceful, serene—there are no lines of worry creasing his proud brow, and his mouth isn’t tugged downward in sorrow or thought. A streak of sunlight lies across his hair and lights it up like molten gold.

Eiji runs a hand along his cheek, marveling that last night was real, and that Ash truly is here, in his blankets, with one arm and leg thrown haphazardly over him, sleeping like a baby. He looks much more rested than yesterday, and the rise and fall of his shoulders is slow and even. He’s wonderful.

As Eiji caresses his jaw, his eyelashes flutter, and after a moment his bleary green eyes focus on Eiji’s fingers, then his arm, and finally his face.

Eiji can’t hold back a smile. “Good morning. Time to get up.”

Ash groans and flops on top of him. “No s’not.”

Eiji laughs and ruffles his already sleep-mussed hair. “It is morning. We will have breakfast soon, and then you can meet my family properly.” He pauses, suddenly remembering the tray he fell asleep before taking out, and looks over to his desk, but it’s empty. “Oh—did you move the dishes?”

“Your sister got ‘em,” Ash mumbles into his neck. Then he pauses, shifting, and when he speaks again his voice is a little less sleepy. “You know, she tried to give me a shovel talk last night.”

“A what?” Eiji blinks.

Ash groans again, nuzzling into his neck and making himself cozy before answering. “Mmph. She thinks I’m your sexy American boyfriend and you came back to Japan after I broke your heart. So she said I better not do it again, or else she’ll be mad.”

“She—” Eiji slaps a hand to his forehead, flabbergasted. “That idiot, oh my god! As if you would— _American boyfriend—_ oh, she is so ridiculous!”

Ash’s laughter rumbles in his chest. It’s ridiculously charming. “I dunno, it was kinda cute of her. Am I your hot American boyfriend, Eiji?”

Eiji blinks again. He’s teasing, but genuinely… what _are_ they, anyway? He scrunches his hand through Ash’s hair affectionately, then shrugs as best as he can. “Um. I do not know. You are my Ash?”

“Your Ash, huh.” Ash flops onto his back, stares at the ceiling for a moment, and then rolls onto his side and props himself up on one elbow, looking down at Eiji with the softest smile the world has ever seen. “You know, I think I like the sound of that.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://eijispumpkin.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/songbirdrimi) !!


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